


The Importance of Hallmark Holidays

by nerdylittledude



Series: Ugly Sweater !Verse [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-20
Updated: 2012-08-20
Packaged: 2017-11-12 17:44:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/493967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdylittledude/pseuds/nerdylittledude
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All it takes is for Cas to assume that Dean has nothing planned for Valentine's day for him to turn it into the best Valentine's Day either of them has ever had. AKA: The one where Dean and Cas have the most cliche Valentine's Day ever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Importance of Hallmark Holidays

“It's a Hallmark holiday, Sam. No.”

 

Dean and Sam are sitting at the edge of a dock, feet dangling over the water. At the urging of both Castiel and Sarah, Sam's soon-to-be-fiancee, the two Winchesters are indulging in some long overdue bro-time. Castiel suggested the brothers go fishing – he'd been wanting to try out a new recipe for fish he'd found, anyway – and so somehow they'd found their way to a little lake in New Jersey, about an hour from Dean and Castiel's studio flat in Pennsylvania. Dean's fairly certain there are at least three lakes much closer than this one, but he has a feeling Cas and Sarah are seriously concerned by how little time Sam and Dean spend together and sent them this far intentionally. In all fairness, he _just_ saw the guy about a month and a half ago. It's not like they're avoiding each other or something.

 

Still, their concern is endearing and Dean would be lying to himself if he said he didn't miss his baby brother. The car ride in the Impala felt a little weird – it was the first time they'd been in it together since they split ways after they shut down the apocalypse – but it was the good kind of weird and after the first 20 minutes the whole 'bonding' thing was well under way. All in all, the trip's been pretty great.

 

Until now, though. The inevitable My Little Brother is Actually Female and Has to Talk About Our Feelings part of the trip. Only Sam could make this considerably less awesome than it would have been otherwise.

 

“Come on, Dean,” Sam says, exasperated, giving Dean the classic puppy dog pout he's worked to near perfection over the years. Dean groans because it's not fair that both his brother and his sort-of-boyfriend-thing have equally potent puppy dog faces. “You know how he is about holidays.”

 

“Like hell I do, Sam, Jesus,” Dean mutters, tugging on his rod for lack of anything better to do with his hands, “Try living with him during Christmas. And freakin New Years, man, the guy was practically jizzing himself, he was so excited when the damn ball dropped.” Dean doesn't expect how his voice softens at the memory. If he closes his eyes, he can still see the fireworks... and feel them, too, the ones he felt when Cas kissed him when the clock struck twelve. Dean clears his throat.

 

“So you should _know_ – ” Sam starts to say, pouncing on Dean's words.

 

“Know _what,_ Sammy?”

 

“You should know how important holidays are to Castiel, Dean. You know you have to step up. Make it special for the guy, or something...” Sam's voice trails off. It's obvious he isn't exactly sure what to make of Dean's relationship with Cas. And that makes sense, because Dean has no idea what the hell it is, either.

 

They kiss pretty often, now, seeing as now that Dean knows that the thunder-in-the-heart, sweaty palms, dry throat thing is totally mutual, he has a lot less willpower than he did before. Now if he wants to kiss Cas he just _goes_ for it. It's a really good feeling.

 

But... that's about it. They 'cuddle' – which translates mostly into just violating personal space when the given opportunities arise – but not much else. Nothing that would give whatever their relationship is a little clarity. They still have separate beds and they still keep their hands to themselves. They don't talk about their relationship, either. There's the occasional, ' _I missed you while you were out_ ' said with such conviction that it makes Dean never want to leave the house, or every now and then the inexplicable, _'thank you, Dean'_ that Cas never explains or goes into... but aside from that, nothing. 

Definitely no _'I love you'_ s.

 

“What does that even mean?” Dean grumbles dismissively. By now he's wound up the reel completely and is standing up to cast it back in again.

 

“A little romance, Dean,” Sam says flatly. His puppy dog pout has dissolved into the makings of a bitch face. “Cas deserves it.”

 

Sam is right, of course, but Dean's almost as macho as he is stubborn and he's not quite ready to put his heart and soul into the whole Romeo role just yet. Up until recently, he'd never even been into kissing if it wasn't attached to a promise of sex. Obviously that's changed, but Dean's a little unsure what else there's room to change for. He's sure as hell not writing any poems.

 

“What you see is what you get,” Dean says, gesturing to himself before he casts his reel. “Cas knows that. He doesn't expect anything more from me.”

 

“That's exactly my point. You could make him really happy if you tried, you know. It doesn't take much.”

 

Dean doesn't bother fighting back anymore – what would Sam know, anyway? Sam doesn't live with the guy, Dean does. Dean has Cas' smile memorized by now, and he knows the other man's laugh as well as he knows his own voice. And, yeah, maybe both smile and laugh are a bit sparse... but this is _Castiel_ , after all. It's a miracle in itself that he smiles at all. Dean's pretty certain Cas is as happy as he's gonna get given the whole 'fallen angel' thing.

 

“I'll buy him some chocolates if it'll make you feel better,” Dean says, pointedly ignoring how Sam's bitch face is amping up to turbo. “Come on, time to change the subject. All the estrogen you're leaking is going to poison the fish.”

 

*

 

Cas can do some amazing things with fish, apparently, because what he makes out of Sam and Dean's catch is nothing short of mouth-watering. This is quite a feat – Dean's never been a fan of fish, especially when it's not deep-fried. Cas' fish is grilled and glistening, doubtlessly _healthy_ , but Dean gets seconds, then thirds; it's that good. He's weighing the pros and cons of a fourth serving when Cas chastises him.

 

“Dean, you are a bottomless pit,” he says distastefully as he watches Dean scrape the last forkful of rice from his plate, wrinkling his brow.

 

“Don't act like you don't love cooking.”

 

“I do. I also prefer my food _in_ people's stomachs – which yours won't be if you continue eating. I'm going to have to insist you stop.”

 

“Cas, c'mon – ”

 

“You realize there's dessert.”

 

Dean's complaints die in his throat. Cas doesn't bake nearly as often as he cooks – which is every night – but Cas seems to have gone all out because Sam and Sarah are over. The two fiances look amused, watching the banter between Dean and his angel. Dean flashes Cas a million dollar smile, at which Cas rolls his eyes. Dean is always especially ridiculous when he's being fed.

 

Cas starts clearing dishes and Dean jumps to his feet to help, speeding the process along. Dean loads the dishwasher as Cas gets dessert ready. Cas pulls out small dessert plates Dean was not aware that they had from the back of their cabinet; they're pink, heart-shaped and have _Happy Valentine's Day!_ written all over in brown script. Dean chuckles.

 

“More holiday spirit?”

 

“They were on sale.”

 

Only recently has Castiel's humanity become less overwhelming for Dean. Several months ago, Dean might have felt guilty that a once mighty Angel of the Lord has been reduced to caring about shopping bargains. Now, he's learned to let it go. Cas isn't miserable, as far as Dean knows, and Dean's been through enough hell (both literally and figuratively) in his life to know better than to dwell on things he can't change. Cas is looking at the plates with a very self-satisfied sort of pleasure, anyway, so _he_ doesn't seem to be too concerned.

 

Cas pulls their dessert from the oven with heart-decorated oven mitts, and Dean can't suppress a smile. He wonders for a moment whether it would be possible to get Cas a job at Hallmark. Then, the smell of whatever Cas has pulled out of the oven hits him – it's pie, and for whatever reason this realization comes with an arsenal of butterflies to his stomach. He closes the dishwasher and walks over to Cas, sliding arms around the smaller man's waist from behind. Dean can feel the quizzical expression on Cas' face without seeing it.

 

“I like it when you bake things,” Dean says by way of explanation, pressing a kiss to Cas' cheek.

 

“I see.” Cas places the pan on the counter and turns around in Dean's arms so that he's facing him. “I will bake more often, then.”

 

They look at each other a moment – both tense in a weird way, as though each is poised to do _something_... but neither does. After a brief second of this, the moment is gone and Dean lets Cas go. Cas goes about cutting slices of pie and Dean pours cups of milk. They're both very quiet.

 

 

After dessert and sparkling cider (Sam doesn't drink anymore, and Dean has consented to cut back a little, anyway), Sam and Sarah finally head out. Even as they're pulling on their coats, Dean can feel his heart aching for his little brother. He hadn't even realized how much he'd missed having Sam around until spending a solid few hours with him. Dean's a little surprised that Cas knows him so well, knows his habit of shutting feelings down and casting them out instead of evaluating them like a normal human being. It was Cas' suggestion that Sam and Sarah come visit in the first place.

 

“Don't forget what I said,” Sam hisses as he hugs Dean goodbye – and, _yeah,_ Dean even missed this. Even the stupid, anal, insufferable aspects of his brother.

 

“Like I said. Chocolates.” Sam's scowl is priceless as he leaves. Sarah gives Dean a hug as well on her way out. Dean likes her, thinks she's good for his brother. Sam's face lights up whenever she smiles and it warms Dean's heart. She's tiny, too, so she makes Sam look even larger and goofier, which is always a plus.

 

“Keep him in line,” Dean tells her, and she smiles.

 

“You got it. Nice to finally meet you – and Castiel, thanks for everything!”

 

“You're welcome.”

 

Castiel's still a little socially stupid, so it takes him a second to realize she's going in for a hug. It's a bit painful to watch, but is above all amusing. He still looks confused even as they leave. Dean shakes his head and closes the door once they're out of sight, looking at Cas fondly. Dean's used to this expression of Cas'. Because, while Cas is making wonderful progress integrating into humanity, he's still puzzled by the simplest things. Dean's not sure what train of thought Cas is on at the moment, but he doesn't bother asking. Instead, he lays on the couch and digs around for the remote.

 

Cas sits on Dean's legs, facing the tv, and sinks back against the couch. It's comfortable enough for the moment, but Dean's pretty sure his circulation is going to be cut off in the next 10 minutes.

 

Dean successfully locates the remote and idly channel surfs. He stops briefly on an advert for Valentine's day candy and Cas grabs his wrist to keep him from changing the channel.

 

“Tell me about Valentine's Day, Dean.”

 

Dean groans.

 

“Shitty holiday, Cas, seriously. Nothing to tell.”

 

“You disliked Christmas as well.”

 

“That's... different.” The guy does have a point, though.

 

“I believe I recall you liking Valentine's Day, anyway.” This is another subtle difference between Angel Cas and Human Cas. Cas has a normal human memory, now. Cas has to _believe_ he _recalls_ something instead of having infinite depths of knowledge with crystal clarity at his fingertips.

 

“Yeah, well,” Dean says awkwardly, “I don't need to get laid by angsty Valentine's rejects anymore.”

 

Cas is quiet at that, and it makes Dean uncomfortable. He wishes he could find something interesting on TV.

 

“Why is that?” Cas asks finally, which was inevitable. Comes with the whole 'socially stupid' thing.

 

“Because, man,” Dean says, exasperated, “I – I don't know, I mean, I have you, right?”

 

Cas looks even more genuinely confused at this, brow completely furrowed, expression entirely pensive. Dean's stomach is in knots and he's not entirely sure why. He clears his throat and does the only thing he can – changes the subject.

 

“So! Valentine's Day. The holiday that comes in a box. What do you want to know?”

 

“I don't know. Tell me everything.” Dean's not sure how to tell Cas that Valentine's Day is nowhere near as fun as Christmas, that he's not going to find any seasonally appropriate ugly jumpers to match with it and there's not nearly as many decorating possibilities. He takes a deep breath.

 

“Not much to tell, Cas. It's a holiday for lovers. They give each other candy and gifts. There's a lot of hearts going around. Lots of red and pink. That's about it.”

 

Cas doesn't look remotely satisfied, and Dean scowls.

 

“Hey, you watch adverts – you can get the gist from all the crap they want you to buy. That's all it is. Buying crap.”

 

Cas goes from unsatisfied to irritated fairly quickly. “Tell me about _your_ Valentine's Days in the past, Dean.”

 

Dean looks at Cas like he's crazy.

 

“Do I look like the kind of guy who – ”

 

“Humour me, Dean. I am curious.”

 

Dean's quiet a moment, summing up Cas' request. After all, Dean's still a little worried that Cas might backtrack, might lose some of the happiness he's slowly gained in the past few months. He'd let Cas keep their Christmas tree up until mid-January, no complaints, because he was so damn anxious that without some holiday to get all cheery over, Cas would regress. He really likes Cas' smile.

 

… Hell, he might even be in _love_ with Cas' smile.

 

“Okay,” he says finally, “I can only think of one valentine in my life that would actually count. Like – not a bar hookup or anything. Her name was Katy Smith. It was in eighth grade...”

 

Dean waits for Cas to laugh at him, but he doesn't. _Of course he doesn't_ , Dean reminds himself, _he has no concept of how lame this is_. Emboldened by this realization, Dean plows on with his story. “Me and Sammy were new to the school district. Dad was tracking a chucacabra that kept giving him the slip. Finally he just dropped us off with a hunter pal of his while he went after it. We stayed with that family for about a month. I remember because I was pretty bummed because my dad wasn't around for my 14 th birthday. He was finally gonna let me drive the Impala.”

 

There's a slight note of sympathy in Cas' eyes that Dean picks up on, and takes comfort in. He prides himself on being one of the only people who can read Cas well; he knows few other people would have caught it. Dean's also comforted by the fact that what he sees is not _pity_. Cas has daddy issues like Dean has daddy issues, and if anyone knows abandonment, it's Cas. Cas seems to notice Dean noticing, because he gives one of Dean's hands a hesitant squeeze. He's awkward, though, because being awkward is his thing, and their hands feel weird. Before Dean has the chance to decide to squeeze back, Cas' hand has released his. Dean plows on again, trying to verbally stampede over the awkward.

 

“But, yeah, Katy. The school was small so we ended up having all the same classes, so our homeroom teacher asked her to show me around. And we just... I don't know. Hit it off. She had dark hair and these crazy awesome blue eyes, I can still remember them. I followed her around like a lost puppy that month. I brought her to this Valentine's Dance at school, went the whole nine yards with roses and shit. I was out of my mind. Never again, man.” Dean chuckles lightly and runs a hand through his hair sheepishly, yet again thankful that Cas doesn't know enough of humanity to make fun of him.

 

“I see,” Cas says thoughtfully, eyes flicking to yet another ad on TV for chocolates. He is quiet until the commercial ends, expression unreadable. “Valentine's Day is... different, then. Well, regardless, I'm buying lawn decorations tomorrow morning. You're free to come with me if you want any say in the appearance of our flat.”

 

 _Regardless of what?_ Dean wants to ask, but he says nothing. There is a barely-there hint of... disappointment, maybe?, in Castiel's expression that Dean does not miss. It dawns on Dean that Cas has gathered, from Dean's story, that Valentine's Day is _not_ a holiday he can participate in. For some reason, Dean feels shame heating his cheeks and he can't make eye contact with Cas anymore. Instead, he puts his arms around the man's waist and tugs him down so that he's cuddled against Dean's chest. They don't say anything – they never do – but their breathing harmonizes on the right frequency and it feels very, very right. Dean wishes he had the courage to do things like this more often, so that it would start to feel more natural. His heartbeat is pounding away a mile a minute in his ribcage, and all the while a small part of him is still afraid that Cas is going to pull away. __

They end up falling asleep there, chest-to-chest, limbs tangled up with the TV softly playing in the background. The last thing Dean thinks before he falls asleep is that he's going to prove Cas wrong.

 

*

 

“Code Red, Sammy,” Dean says urgently into his mobile. He's in Walmart, pacing around, and everything around him is _red, red, red_. Red and pink decorations are everywhere, either for sale or decorating the store itself. Giant red hearts with _Sale!_ and _Always low prices!_ hang from the ceiling. There is an entire section devoted to festive candy, which is where Dean is currently. Cas is on the other side of the store, looking at lawn decorations. To the former-angel's absolute glee, there are decorations that light up, like Christmas ones. At the point they discovered this, Dean had accepted his fate – that he'd be doomed to forever be living in one of _those_ homes. One of the flats that decorates for every possible occasion imaginable. If Leap Year had decorations, Dean's fairly certain that their flat would be decked out in those as well.

 

So, it was under the guise of disdain for his manliness that he split up with Cas and headed to the candy section to send an SOS to his little brother.

 

“Dean? What's wrong?” Sam's tone is very serious, and it occurs to Dean that he probably used his I'm On a Hunt and Need Dire Assistance voice, by accident. Oh well. This is still important. At least now he has Sam's attention.

 

“What kind of candy are you getting Sarah for Valentine's Day?”

 

Sam groans. “Are you serious, Dean? All you're doing for Castiel is buying chocolates and you can't even do that on your own?”

 

“What? - What, no, I... changed my mind.”

 

“I'm sorry, what was that?” Sam says, and there's something like gloating lying just under his tone. Dean grips the phone tight.

 

“I. Changed. My. Mind.”

 

“So what you're telling me is _you_ , Dean Winchester – ”

 

“Changed my mind, Sammy, yes. Jesus. And if I change it again, it'll be your fault. So shut up – no, seriously, shut up. What candy do I buy? He'll be back over here soon.” Despite himself, Dean keeps looking over his shoulder, afraid to catch sight of Cas at any time.

 

“It's a little sad that you need to ask help for this, man.”

 

“ _Shut up_ , Sam. What kind are you getting Sarah?”

 

“Sarah's allergic to chocolate.”

 

Dean groans. “Of course she is. I don't know, I think I might be having second thoughts about this girl. Allergic to chocolate? Really?”

 

“Yes,” Sam says tightly, “But Castiel isn't, which is the point, if you'd kindly stick to it.”

 

“Huffy, huffy. Alright. There's so many damn kinds of chocolate. Should I just grab some Hershey's and –”

 

“ _No_ ,” Sam cuts in quickly, firmly. “This is Castiel's _very first_ Valentine's Day as a human. It's important that you go traditional about everything.”

 

“Meaning...?” Dean swears that his brother is his gay best friend sometimes, really. He finds it extremely ironic that he's the one in the non-hetero relationship here.

 

Well. Sort of relationship.

 

“Meaning get him the classic heart-shaped box of chocolates that doesn't tell you which kind is which.”

 

“Oh,” Dean says dumbly, dropping the extra-extra large Hershey's bar he's been examining. It looks pretty appealing in his opinion – it's about half the length of his forearm – but Sam is the expert here. Personally, Dean's always annoyed by never knowing what kind of candy he's about to stick in his mouth... but this is about Cas, not Dean. And Sam's right; Valentine's Day isn't really Valentine's Day unless someone gets a heart-shaped box of vague candies. “Alright. Thanks man.”

 

“Oh, and Dean?” Sam says.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Don't get the cheap Walmart brand one, please.” Dean rolls his eyes, but has to smile to himself. His brother knows him well.

“Fine, fine. I'll spare no expense.”

 

“Good. I'm proud of you, Dean.”

 

“Oh, c'mon, Sam, don't act like I'm the cheapest guy in the world or some – ”

 

“No, not that. I mean... You're finally making an effort to hang on to something that makes you happy. This is the first time in a long time I've ever seen you do that. So... Yeah. Thanks, Dean.”

 

Dean suppresses the urge to groan again. Leave it to his chick-flick little brother to make Dean being nice to Cas suddenly some sort of personal present to him.

 

“I'm just trying to show Cas a good time,” Dean says awkwardly, evasively, because he's not entirely sure how to deal with the genuine happiness in Sam's voice. “Thanks, man, I owe you. I'll let you know how it goes.”

 

“If you need help picking engagement rings at any point...”  
  
“I am hanging up on you now,” Dean announces, and does so.

 

*

 

Castiel is vehemently against cupid decorations, on principle, and Dean would be lying if he said he wasn't relieved. The little naked, winged babies with arrows freak him out and he'd hate to have them all over the house. He's okay with the array of heart-themed motifs Cas has decided on. The guy is actually pretty awesome at decorating.

 

There are rose-scented candles everywhere, filling the flat with a sweetness that is, thankfully, not at all overbearing. Cas clearly prefers them to proper lightning, so Dean doesn't protest when Cas often jumps up to flick off the lights if they're not using them for a specific purpose. The warm glow of the candles kinda remind Dean of Christmas lights. He muses that their flat is always going to be dimly lit for one reason or another, and finds that he doesn't mind at all.

 

Castiel has the front yard decorated with Valentine's Day things as well. Again, Dean is grateful for the mutual dislike for cupids; he'd seen a rather ghastly lawn ornament of a lit-up cupid throwing an arrow and had been afraid it might end up on their lawn. Castiel's tastes are far classier. The railing that leads up the stairs to their house is wrapped in rose shaped lights. They're very ornate and detailed, gorgeous compared to some of the cheesier options available. The center of the tiny square of grass that constitutes their yard has roses, as well; they are a set of five, plastic and on sticks, each varying in height. Beneath them, on the ground, _Happy Valentine's Day!_ is written in lights. The roses have lights as well, and the yard looks magical at night. They're the only yard on their block with any sort of festivity, and Dean's surprised he's not as embarrassed as he should be. In fact, he's actually sort of pleased when he overhears the compliments of passersby.

 

Dean takes note of Cas' obvious (if not horrifically cliché) love for roses. His initial reaction, of course, is to add a bouquet of roses to his slowly building plan for the Big Day, but after a day or so of contemplation, he decides that he can do even better than that.

 

 

*

 

“That man we saved today called us faggots as we left,” Castiel says conversationally over dinner one night. It is four days until Valentine's Day. They're at a diner in Delaware and Dean's fairly certain they smell like they've been digging up graves. Which would make sense, because they have.

 

“Are you freaking kidding?” Dean asks after swallowing a big bite of the bacon cheeseburger he's eating. About halfway through the drive home, both men realized that making it all the way home on empty stomachs after a long hunt was out of the question. The flickering diner's sign on the side of the rode had been a beacon. “I swear to God, some people. He wouldn't even be _alive_ if not for these faggots.”

 

“We must give off the appearance of a couple more than I was aware,” Cas says thoughtfully, between bites of salad. While Castiel's initial dining habits upon becoming a full-fledged human had been almost entirely cheeseburgers, Cas eats pretty healthily now. He says he owes it to Jimmy to take care of the vessel he accidentally, unceremoniously stole from him. When Dean had pointed out that Jimmy was a huge burger fan himself, Cas had just shrugged and said that Dean was missing the point.

 

Dean contemplates this a moment. They're both quiet as they eat.

 

“Are we a couple, Cas?” he asks after a beat. He knows it's an awkward question, but it's killing him and they are on the subject, after all. Castiel tilts his head.

 

“Up until less than a year ago, I was an angel, Dean. Why are you asking me as though _I'd_ know, if you don't?”

 

Dean gives Cas a look like he's not quite sure what to make of the guy – and really, he's not – and then abruptly laughs. “Fair enough.”

 

They don't say anything more on the subject. They spend the rest of the meal discussing what an ugly son of a bitch their ganked ghost was tonight and whether or not they'll be back in time to catch American Idol.

 

*

 

Two days before Valentine's Day, Dean's getting some seriously cold feet. He can't help it – He's _Dean Winchester_ , and he's not used to being vulnerable. Pulling out the red carpet for Cas, being boldly romantic... these are things that are way outside his comfort zone. He keeps thinking about the box of candy he got Cas and how roses are on sale right now. That's all Cas needs, really.

 

Then Dean thinks about the look on Cas' face after Dean had finished telling Cas about Valentine's Day. _I was out of my mind. Never again, man_. The look of disappointment, however slight, on Castiel's face had been unmistakable. Dean hated it then and he hates it now. He doesn't ever want to be the cause of a look like that on Cas' face. It's obvious that Cas' simple holiday decorating gives him a tiny sense of belonging to this holiday, enough to make him a little happy whenever they pull up to the flat and see the glowing roses. But it's not enough. Dean wants to make Cas smile. It doesn't happen often enough.

 

They're cuddled up on the couch watching – and Dean will deny this vehemently if ever questioned on it – _Lilo and Stitch_ when Cas turns to him and asks, “do beaches really look like that?”

On screen, Lilo and company are surfing on pretty, animated waves to upbeat Hawaiian music.

 

“What? Have you never seen the ocean, Cas?”

 

Castiel shakes his head. “I was never stationed near one and never had cause to visit.”

 

Dean's jaw drops.

 

“Thousands of years on Earth and you've never been to the ocean. That's screwed up, Cas.”

 

Cas tilts his head like he always does when Dean confuses him. Dean just shakes his head – and then, a second later, abruptly kisses him. Cas kisses back, but his mouth feels confused as well.

 

“That was sudden,” he comments when their mouths part.

 

“You've never been to the damn ocean,” Dean says, like this explains everything. On screen, the musical sequence is over and the two men are quickly engrossed in the film again. _Lilo and Stitch_ is Castiel's favourite Disney film. They watch Disney films a lot. Dean chalks it up to the fact that Cas is new to humanity. He didn't have a childhood to watch kid movies. With this logic, it's easier not to protest when Cas wants to watch them.

 

It's also easier to act like he doesn't actually like watching them, too, if he pretends he's just humoring Cas.

 

*

 

On Valentine's Day, Dean wakes up early.

 

Dean _always_ sleeps in and Cas usually makes breakfast for them both before he even wakes up, so Dean decided early on that today, he was going to return the favor. He's not the world's best cook, and he's got nothing on Cas, but he's beast with French toast and happens to know that Cas loves it. It is an effort to stay quiet while cooking – he's used to blasting Kansas the few times he's ever actively involved in the kitchen – but he makes sure he's next to soundless so that Cas doesn't wake up.

 

Dean finds big, heart-shaped cookie cutters in a drawer and decides that today is not a day for pride; he cuts their toast into hearts. He sets a tray with breakfast, coffee (for him) and tea (for Cas), carefully lining up their forks on top of red napkins. He bites his lip and looks it over, trying to steady the inexplicably taut feeling in his chest. He takes a deep breath before taking the the tray to the other room, where Cas is asleep on his bed.

 

Dean places the tray on the edge of the bed and pulls open the curtains, letting in early morning sunshine to lighten the room. Cas shifts in his sleep and then yawns. Dean goes to his side and sits on the edge of the bed, gently shaking Cas' shoulder. “Morning, sleepy,” he says softly, and his voice sounds a little funny.

 

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says sleepily,  voice groggy from sleep. He sits up and looks Dean over, then catches sight of the tray. A shocked expression slowly finds its way onto his face. A smile twitches at the edges of his lips that makes Dean's heart do crazy backflips he's inexplicably embarrassed of.

 

“Happy Valentine's Day, Cas,” Dean says. Dean's grinning ear to ear, embarrassed of himself for how proud of himself he is. He feels like a little kid coming home from school to show something he's made to his mom, or something. Cas' face lights up when Dean says it – not just the twitching-at-the-edges smile, but a bright genuine one that seems to make the living room feel brighter. He sits in the seat Dean's offered him, looking at Dean like he's not quite sure he believes what's going on.

 

“I thought you said, 'never again'?” Cas says as Dean shimmies into bed beside Cas, pulling the tray to their laps.

 

“Yeah, well, I say that a lot.”

 

Castiel visibly enjoys his meal, closing his eyes as he eats, making quiet noises of contentment every now and then. Dean can barely eat his own meal, he's so caught up in watching Cas. All he can think is how _surprised_ Cas is going to be – that Cas probably thinks that this is is it. That breakfast in bed is all that Dean has planned. Cas keeps flashing his pretty smile at Dean and Dean's a little afraid he's going to turn into a puddle of melted chocolate if Cas doesn't stop soon.

 

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas says when he's done, and his voice is incredibly genuine.

 

“No prob, Cas,” Dean says – and Cas kisses him. Dean is caught off guard. Castiel doesn't initiate kisses very often.

 

“That was... very thoughtful, I wasn't expecting – ”

 

“Hey, man, thank me once the day is over,” Dean says with a mischievous smirk. Cas raises his eyebrows.

 

“I don't understand,” Cas says bluntly, and Dean loves him for it, loves him because he really _doesn't_ understand, really isn't expecting anything. Cas isn't human enough to expect anything from Dean, and it is because of this that Dean wants to give him everything.

 

“You'll see. But right now, I want you to take off your shirt.” Dean takes the tray and puts it on the floor beside the bed. Cas tilts his head and gives Dean a curious look.

 

“Why?”

 

“Because I'd bet my soul that -  ”

 

“ _Dean_.” Whoops. Joking about your soul with the guy who dove into hell to save it probably isn't the best idea.

 

“Uh, I'd bet my _car_ that you're tense as hell.”

 

“Tense?”

 

“Just take it off.”

 

Cas eyes Dean warily but complies, tugging his shirt up over his head. Dean looks him over, clears his throat a moment and steadies himself. This idea wasn't entirely original. Every magazine with a Valentine's Day section on the rack suggested this. He's watched endless amounts of Youtube tutorials on it. He takes a deep breath, steeling himself, before clambering out of bed. He disappears into the bathroom a moment, with Cas watching after him curiously, and returns with a bottle of menthol oil.

 

“Lay down on your stomach,” Dean commands, and this time Cas doesn't question. He still looks a little close to panicking, though, and it's not doing much for Dean's nerves. He hums _Hey Jude_ under his breath, and it seems to relax both of them.

 

Castiel jumps visibly when Dean touches him. Dean knows that his hands aren't cold; it's just suddenly quite obvious that _no one_ has ever touched Castiel's bare skin before. Not since the vessel has been under his full control, anyway. The former angel's skin is like a wall of brick – Dean would have been right to bet his car, or even his soul, that Cas was tense. The magazines were right. Cas needed a massage big time.

 

It takes a minute or so for Cas to fully relax, but when he does, he's practically putty under Dean's hands. Dean revels in the tiny sighs Cas utters every now and then, takes pride in each sharp exhalation of breath. Slowly, slowly, Cas' taut and rigid muscles become more loose. Dean loses track of time, caught up in the feeling of Castiel's flesh in his hands. This is the most intimate the two of them have ever been with each other. It's... nice.

 

It's also goddamn _hot_ , but Dean's not allowing his thoughts to go there just yet.

 

Castiel's breathing has slowed to the quiet thrum it usually assumes when he's sleeping when Dean finally deems his work finished. He wipes the residual oil from his hands onto his jeans and then crawls into bed beside Cas. Cas' eyes open, half-lidded. Dean's face is inches from Cas' when he tugs the blankets around them.

 

“Thank you,” Cas says, and Dean chuckles. He has no idea what comes over him, but he kisses Cas' nose. He's never kissed a nose before, not since Sammy was a baby. Cas tilts his head up and makes a proper kiss of it before burying his face in Dean's neck. This is new for them. They fall asleep curled against each other, the whole room smelling of menthol.

 

*

 

After alternately sleeping and lazing around for several hours more, they finally get out of the house at around 1pm. Dean lets Cas pick the music. It violates everything he, as driver and thus captain of this ship, believes in... but he lets him. He makes it very clear that it's a one time thing, never to be expected or asked for again, but the gravity of the gesture is not lost to Cas. Cas plays The Smiths and Dean doesn't complain. The look of sheer contentment on Cas' face is enough to silence any second thoughts Dean might have as they drive the two hour journey to their destination.

 

“Where are we going?” Cas asks, about halfway through the ride.

 

“West,” Dean answers vaguely, his expression smug.

 

Cas says nothing to this, instead redirecting his attention back outside the window. Dean wonders if it's possible for his face to stay permanently frozen from all the smiling he's doing. Cas is calm and quiet as ever, but Dean picks up on the slight tapping of Cas' fingers on the dashboard. It's enough to show that Cas is excited, eager. It's more than enough for Dean to be beside himself with glee.

 

When they finally take the exit off the highway, Cas makes a strange face.

 

“The air smells...”

 

“Salty?” Dean supplies, and a note of recognition resonates through Cas' expression.

 

“The ocean.” It's not a question; it's a statement. Dean nods.

 

“You guessed it.” With that, Dean pulls into a parking lot and parks the car. Cas is staring at Dean, eyes wide. Dean takes the keys out of the ignition and returns Cas' gaze, both of them quiet.

 

“You can kiss me if you want, man,” Dean says, for lack of anything else to say.

 

Cas doesn't do anything – which is _extremely_ awkward – so Dean decides to kiss him himself before it gets too weird. Cas' expression hasn't changed much when their lips part, though Dean can see that same smile he's seriously getting used to playing at the corners of the former-angel's mouth.

 

“You do that often now,” Cas says.

 

Dean arches his eyebrows. “What? Kiss you?”

 

“Yes. You used to only do it if I asked you.”

 

“Asked you? You've never asked me to kiss you.”

 

“With my eyes,” Dean explains, and Dean instantly understands. He knows exactly what kind of looks Cas is talking about. They're the loaded glances accompanied by barely-there lip twitches... Dean had subconsciously noticed them every time. Cas is right; Dean used to only kiss Cas when the tension between them was electric, when the atmosphere was thick with the static need for it. Lately, he's been kissing Cas spontaneously, thinking about it after.

 

“Yeah, well...” Dean says, stuttering, unsure how to respond, “What, am I breaking some sort of angel code, or something?”

 

Cas says nothing, only looks at Dean more. Dean shifts, uncomfortable.

 

“Perhaps,” Cas says at last, “but I'm not an angel any more.” And he kisses him. The kiss is longer than there usual ones, so long Dean considers the implications of adding tongue for a split second, but Dean's stomach interrupts these thoughts with a loud, audible roar. He smiles sheepishly, and Cas laughs.

 

“Time to feed the beast,” Cas announces.

 

“The beast says, 'hell yeah!'” Dean agrees, and they leave the car.

 

It's February and it's cold, and the boardwalk is appropriately empty. Thankfully, though, there are still some food places and stands open, and they snag some corn dogs so they can eat as they walk. Their footsteps make a satisfying wooden sound as they walk, looking at the beach from a distance and checking out the few shops that are open. At some point, Cas hesitantly grabs Dean's hand. It feels weird, holding hands, but it would be even weirder to let go, so Dean holds on.

 

After a walking quite a long while, they vaguely hear music coming from the beach. Cas hesitates at the entrance to the beach leading down from the boardwalk, facing the direction the music is coming from. It's already starting to get a _little_ dark – the day is overcast and the winter sun sets early. Before he has a chance to speak, though, Dean's already taking off his shoes.

 

“C'mon,” he says, holding his shoes in his hands. Cas hesitates a minute before following suit. They walk at first, but soon they're both running to the shore, sand spraying in all directions at their feet. It becomes a race, which Cas easily wins. They forget about the music for a moment and instead focus on the water, which Cas bounds up to, wetting his feet. The air is cold and the water is even colder, but their excitement and the warmth from their run give them some immunity from it. Still, they don't stay in one place in the water, lest their feet get too cold. They both roll up their jeans and splash around, completely abandoning all pretense.

 

The sky gets successively darker until they're finally tired out. They're both trembling by the time they're done and both have smiles practically cemented to their faces. Only then do they remember the music that drew them to the beach, which is still playing. Cas' shaking is pronounced and Dean doesn't think twice before bounding over to him and wrapping an arm around his shoulder, pulling him close as they walk towards the source of the music.

 

A short walk away, they find a small band of college kids playing music that sounds like – and probably is – from the 60's. Dean can only describe it as 'beach music', and it's got a fun, upbeat tone to it that makes Dean feel all kinds of happy. Before he can think better of it, he grabs Cas around the waist and then they're _dancing._ Awkward doesn't even begin to cover it, especially because Cas' initial reaction is to freeze up and stare at Dean like he's crazy. Dean isn't deterred, though, and after a moment Cas just goes with it. He lets Dean spin him around and then does the same, and they look absolutely ridiculous.

 

Dean hasn't danced since middle school, since Katy Smith, and he's pretty sure he's _never_ let himself go like this before. After a while of stupid spins and other silly dance moves, they default to a slow-dance. The band loves them, and appropriately changes their tempo to match their new pace. Cas rests his head on Dean's shoulder as they spin, while stars slowly dot the sky. By the time they look up again, the sky is alight with them. This beach is far enough away from everything else that there are more stars than either of them have ever seen before. The view is awe-inspiring.

 

They don't leave til the band packs it up, everyone wishing them Happy Valentine's Day very enthusiastically. Dean's arm never leaves Cas' waist the whole time, and his face is burning pink from pride from the nature of the looks the bandmates are giving them. It's the same look people give newlyweds, the same earnest smile people flash happy couples when they're warmed by the love that they see. Dean realizes that he and Cas probably made this band's night. He wishes he has a better word for what he's feeling than _butterflies_ , because that's a goddamn girly word. He can't think of anything more accurate, though.

 

Dean can already see the _thank you_ on Castiel's lips before he says it, as they reach the car. He hurries to cut him off.

 

“Not yet. We're not going home yet.”

 

Castiel looks positively stunned... and something else. There's something else in his eyes, something warm and impossibly sweet and – and _something,_ and Dean can't even handle it. He looks away.

 

They drive about 20 minutes and pull up to a place surrounded by high hedges that hide the interior. There are roses in the hedges and lights laced in the branches. A huge, wooden double-doored gate stands in the middle. On it, in fancy black script, are the words _The Greenhouse_. Dean's become fairly enamored of the inquisitive look Cas has been giving him all day, and only smiles and shakes his head when Cas directs it at him when they walk up to the doors. He opens the door and Cas' jaw drops.

 

There are flowers everywhere. Dean has taken special notice of Cas' love for roses and pounced on it. Extensive googling found him this place. It is a restaurant set up in a greenhouse. There are flowers on every surface not used for eating. The utensils are plant-inspired in a decidedly not-girly way, and the handles on the wine glasses have vines on them. The waiters and waitresses are all covered in plants or flowers of some sort, and roses hang from chandeliers on the ceiling. All the walls are glass, and a garden can be seen extending past the back door.

 

“Reservation should be for 'Dean and Castiel Winchester',” Dean tells the hostess at the front sheepishly. Dean's not sure if he's imagining the faint blush on Castiel's face when he hears that he's been included under Dean's last name.

 

“Right this way,” the woman says, and leads them through the greenhouse and out the backdoor, through the garden. Dean laughs at Castiel's confusion as he turns to look at the restaurant over his shoulder. He sneakily grabs Castiel's hand. Cas returns his grip, giving him a bright and easy smile.

 

… Yeah, Dean could really, really get used to that smile.

 

The garden is like a small, uncomplicated maze, with hedges making little sections. The waitress shows them to a tiny section with a table with two places set – the sections are all little, private dining places. The section is outside, surrounded entirely by roses. There are roses in the hedges that surround the section, and lights in the hedges, just like out front. There are candles and flower petals on table as well. The ground is soft grass. Castiel remains speechless.

 

The waitress gives them menus and pours them wine, then leaves them to contemplate their meals.

“This is beautiful,” Cas says finally, once she's gone. His voice is very small. He's looking all around – at the flowers, the candles, the sky looming over them.

 

“Yeah?” Dean says. He doesn't know what to say – he's so proud of himself he's almost uncomfortable. Castiel leans across the table and kisses him, long and slow, and Dean just about melts. Spontaneous kisses are even more rare for Cas than they are for Dean. He savors it like it's candy.

 

The order spaghetti, subconsciously repeating what they did on their first “date” by splitting it. The waitress looks like she's about to spontaneously combust with how cute they are, and she keeps giggling awkwardly and looking genuinely pleased to be around them. Dean doesn't have the heart to be annoyed. Like with the band members, all he can do is be pleased by how much secondhand happiness he and Cas are bringing people.

 

Castiel keeps kissing him, and it's deliciously out of character. They have a mini fight over a meatball and Dean eventually gives up and lets Cas have it, and Cas drops his fork and kisses Dean. Dean says he likes Cas' shirt and that gets a kiss, too – just about everything Dean does is suddenly overwhelmingly endearing. Dean has this feeling on his chest he's been trying to name all day, and he's pretty sure he has a word for it, now.

 

And he wants to say it, too. But he's afraid.

 

When dinner is done and paid for, the waitress leads them even further into the garden. They lace fingers instinctively, now, as soon as they're out of their seats. Cas doesn't bother with the inquisitive look now – instead, his face is a picture of anticipation, eager to find out what comes next. What does come next is a section of the garden that is simply a garden in itself. Here, Cas can pick a bouquet of flowers for himself.

 

“They were selling flowers at the supermarket,” Dean says, “but I figured it'd be cooler if you could pick em yourself. I'm bad at this kind of thing.”

 

Cas is visibly exuding excitement as he strolls around picking flowers. They split up, walking around, and Dean bounds over to Cas every time he finds a flower he deems worthy of adding to Cas' bundle. Together, they end up with an assortment of flowers that don't look like they go together at all (probably because they don't). It's an odd-looking bouquet and it fits them perfectly.

 

*

 

The Impala smells like flowers. Strangely, Dean's ego is not at all wounded by this would-be slight to his manliness. He's too distracted by how handsome Cas' face looks, framed by the comically large bouquet. Castiel requests AC/DC on the ride home and Dean briefly considers the idea that God might have hand-crafted this angel to him.

 

Thinking of the handprint on his shoulder, Dean thinks this might not be too far-fetched an idea.

 

The drive passes in relative silence, but it's a warm and comfortable one. Driving is slightly difficult because Dean has one hand in Castiel's, but it's not too crippling. More than anything else, it's wonderful – this whole night has been wonderful. Dean tries not to replay the night in his head too much while he's driving, because he's afraid he'll get so giddy he'll cause an accident. He makes a mental note to begrudgingly thank his little brother for being so anal.

The glow of their festive decorations is a welcome sight. The word _home_ burns bright in Dean's head, and it's not a word he ever thought he'd be acquainted with. He'd always thought he'd be living as a nomad in motel rooms, alone with his brother, for the rest of his life... and here he is, pulling up to the same flat he's lived in for months with a man he's just spent _Valentine's Day_ with. His life has turned out so much better than he ever dared to hope.

 

And yeah, the few times he did dare to hope it never included a fallen angel and a studio flat in Pennsylvania, but Dean has absolutely no complaints with the way life has turned out for him. For once, he is truly, honestly happy. The best part is that he has a really strong feeling that this is something that's going to stay – he's finally starting to get confident that this isn't going to be pulled out from under him any time soon.

 

Cas sets his flowers on the coffee table and flops onto the couch, eyes meeting Dean's. They're all lit up like the stars they've been looking at all night. Dean walks past him to the hallway closet, brushing Cas' hair as he walks past.

 

“One last thing,” he says, pulling something from the top shelf. He takes a seat beside Cas and hands him what he's holding – the chocolates he bought, and a card. The card is about as classic as it gets. After spending about an hour _very_ pissed off in the Hallmark section of the local CVS, he abandoned it for the Arts and Crafts aisle. The card he hands Castiel now is completely handmade. It's got everything every enthusiastic, crafty kindergarten girl's Valentine's Day card would have – lace, hearts, glitter.

 

Sam _did_ tell him to go traditional. Dean figures Cas has no basis of comparison, so he has no idea how far off the cheesy deep end Dean has gone. He is seriously grateful for this fact.

 

There's a simple _Be My Valentine?_ message inside, and Cas reacts enthusiastically by tossing the card next to the flowers and wrapping his arms around Dean's neck, whispering “Yes, Dean, I will be your Valentine,” into Dean's neck. His token formality makes Dean chuckle. He wraps his arms around Castiel's waist and tugs him down so that they're cuddled together, lying on the couch. Cas presses kisses up and down Dean's neck that make him tingle in more ways than one.

 

And there it is again, that feeling on Dean's chest that he's been pushing down all night. Tha feeling that comes with three words that keep burning on his tongue. They are insistent, pushing at his lips, willing themselves from his mouth. They want to be spoken. Dean is terrified.

 

Cas looks up and meets Dean's eyes dead-on.

 

“May I say thank you, now?” Castiel asks, and Dean grins and nods. Castiel presses a kiss to Dean's mouth. “Thank you. I'm pleased you made an exception for me.”

 

“I'll always make the exception for you, Cas,” Dean replies, and is startled because it's true. So true, in fact, that he's inspired to let the words lingering on his lips finally manifest. He takes several deep breaths and twirls a tiny bit of Cas' hair around one of his fingers.

 

“Cas?” he says hesitantly. Another deep breath.

 

“Yes, Dean?”

 

“Uh – shit.” There is nothing romance novel about this. What the movies and books never tell you is that this shit is _hard_ and he's already messed up big time, already lost the chance for eloquence... but if he doesn't say it now, he knows he never will. Cas doesn't say anything else, just looks at him curiously.

 

“Uh – so, uh. Cas, you make me feel...” This is positively painful. Cas' naivety is doing nothing to help; where a normal person might have figured out what Dean was trying to say, Cas only stares. His stare is deep and penetrating and Dean is quickly starting to feel like the world's biggest idiot.

 

“I'm in love with you,” he finally forces out, and watches Cas' eyes turn wide and saucers. “Yeah. There we go. Said it. I love you, Cas. That's, uh... that's it.”

 

Cas continues to watch him, brows wrinkled in what seems like confusion. Dean wonders suddenly, quite panicked, whether angels – fallen or not – even _can_ love, if he's imagined everything. That this isn't mutual, that he's been feeling something that isn't there.

 

But then Cas is kissing him, again and again, squeezing close against him and wrapping his arms around Dean's waist. They're chest-to-chest, face-to-face when they stop to breathe, and Cas finally replies.

 

“It is about time, Dean Winchester,” he says breathlessly.

 

Dean raises his eyebrows, honestly shocked.

 

“What? - Wait, do you, uh...”

 

Cas kisses him again, then once more.

 

“Yes, Dean. I love you, too. Happy Valentine's Day.”

 

They don't say anything else, simply lay there in the dim light from Castiel's many festive candles. The air is floral and the room is quiet. They are _happy_. As they drift off to sleep, all Dean can think is that he finally, finally understands the importance of Hallmark holidays.


End file.
